


dancing through our house (with the ghost of you)

by recollection



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: IT Chapter Two Spoilers, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Sad Richie Tozier, shoutout to bev for being richie's rock, this fic doesn't really have a direction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-11-02 07:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20662823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recollection/pseuds/recollection
Summary: if i could dream long enough, you’d tell me i’d be just fine.—in which richie doesn't know how to cope now that eddie's gone





	dancing through our house (with the ghost of you)

**Author's Note:**

> saw IT chapter 2 for the third time today and boy do i have some feelings
> 
> title (and running theme) is from ghost of you by 5 seconds of summer

It’s been three days since the house on Neibolt collapsed, taking any chance Richie hoped for of a happy life, of any kind of life with Eddie. 

Three days since Eddie had last been seen. Well, unless you count the numerous nightmares Richie’s wracked with. Nightmares that are really just Richie’s mind reliving the walls crashing down around Eddie’s lifeless corpse. He can’t- 

Richie can’t think about it without feeling like his heart’s on fire and his lungs are being crushed. _ Crushed, like Eddie is beneath the rubble, where he’ll always remain. Alone_. God, he’s going to be sick. 

He throws up. 

His mouth tastes as bitter as he feels. He wishes he didn’t hate the others for leaving Derry, but he does. By god, he does, and he hates _ himself _for it. But he can’t help it. He’s lost the one true person he ever really loved, ever _ needed_, and anyone else that even came close has deserted him. 

The Losers all promised to “keep in touch” and that they’re “only one call or plane ride away” but he knows they know that any thought of Richie or Derry or Eddie has left their mind by now, gone without a trace. 

It hurts. _ Everything fucking hurts_. 

He can’t stand being in the same room as himself, feels sick at the thought of even considering leaving Derry to forget about what happened, about Eddie. He knows he can’t stay here forever, that he has a life to get back to (“Do you really, though?” cackles a voice in the back of his mind that sounds eerily reminiscent of Pennywise), but he can’t help feeling like he’s abandoning Eddie. 

The utter despair that’s been clouding his mind and heart these past three days threatens to swallow him completely. He can’t breathe, can’t think straight. It’s only when he packs his bags and starts his car that it eases, only to be replaced by the crushing weight of guilt. 

“I’m so sorry, Eddie. Please forgive me. I’m sorry I’m _ sorry I’msosorry._” But why would Eddie ever forgive him? He can’t ever forgive himself. 

It feels like his heart, his soul is breaking, to the soundtrack of his sobbing. Piece by piece is being chipped away with every kilometre he gets away from Derry. He suspects the heartbreak and the threat of tears to remain for a couple of days, just until he gets far enough away. 

Richie hates himself for holding out for that. 

—

Richie doesn’t know what to do when it’s been a week since he left Derry and the memories are still ever present. Every. Single. One. 

He hasn’t slept. The sight of Eddie being impaled, his voice so.. quiet. It’s all so _ clear _ and _ bright _ and _ loud _ every time he closes his eyes. The look on Eddie’s face haunts him, always just at the edge of the front of his mind. It’s a sharp, difficult reminder of how Eddie died for _ him_. 

Richie lies in bed listlessly, unable to do anything else. Always on the left side, though. The right side is Eddie’s; it belongs to him. Richie’s lack of sleep has resulted in everything moving in both slow motion and at the speed of light. If he focuses enough, thinks hard enough, Richie swears he can see Eddie resting peacefully beside him. 

Richie cries. 

He’s desperate to see Eddie, to see him asleep with his chest rising and falling with each breath. He’d do anything to have Eddie with him, _ where he belongs_.

They’d talked about it, about Eddie leaving Myra and moving in with Richie, about them <strike>starting</strike> resuming their life together. It was all in secret, of course. Hushed whispers in room corners and beneath bed sheets. Couldn’t let themselves discuss it too loudly, for fear of it being ripped away from them. 

And it was cruel of Richie to allow himself to hope, really. To think that yeah, maybe they would both make it out alive, that they could make it out _ together_. He let himself hope, even just for the briefest moment, and now he’s paying the price. 

_ It’s stupid_, Richie thinks as he stares at the empty place beside him. _ One night spent curled up with you and now I can’t bear to sleep on your side of the bed. Or at all. _

The night before the ritual, Eddie had grabbed Richie’s hand as they were making their way to their own rooms, and squeezed. A wordless _ I need you_, and he led the way. They’d toed off their shoes and Eddie pulled Richie onto his bed and wrapped them in the covers. They just laid there, hands interlocked, eyes exploring the other’s. Richie had questions upon questions racing through his mind. But it’s okay. He didn’t mind the quiet. There’d be time for answers later. 

(There wasn’t.)

Richie’s hand made its way to Eddie’s cheek, cradling and rubbing soothing circles. He’d missed Eddie. He hadn’t realised to what extent, but lying there, the love of his life in his hands, it’s like a piece he didn’t realise was missing had made it’s home in his heart. He felt whole. 

He may have been back in that shitty town with that shitty fucking clown, but he was home. _ Eddie’s _ his home. Not Derry. Not Chicago. Nowhere else but this man he’s loved for longer than he can remember. Things were okay. They were okay. At least for now. 

Richie’s not okay. He knows that, has grown used to it over the last ten days. You think he’d at least be used to the pain by now. But it’s like it has to make itself known, like it feeds off of Richie’s heartache and self torment. 

If Richie could dream long enough, he knows Eddie would tell him he’ll be just fine. 

But he can’t ever sleep long enough to forget Eddie’s face that fateful night. 

—

It’s a week later when Richie’s heart skips a beat and breath hitches. He’d been going through some old clothes when a particular shirt captures his eye. It’s a dull black with faded letters reading Led Zeppelin. All these years, Richie couldn’t work out why he didn’t just throw away this shirt that clearly doesn’t fit him. Looking back, he can remember the way it fitted Eddie, hem just a tad long, eyes bright in awe at wearing one of Richie’s favourite bands. Richie can’t recall how he ended up with it in his possession when he left Derry all those years ago. But he’s glad. He needs something real, something permanent. 

But it’s too much. The rush of memories, of Eddie, of his feelings. 

Eddie’s shirt in one hand, phone held to his ear with the other, his heart in his throat as Beverly picks up on the fourth ring. 

“Rich?” 

He’s silent, can’t speak. He doesn’t know what to say. Wouldn’t know _ how _ to say it. 

“Richie, honey, are you alright?”

The “Bev?” he whispers sounds so broken, so _ sad _ to even his ears. 

The line’s quiet for just an instant before “We’ll be right there, okay Richie?” hits his ears. All Richie can do is nod. 

The knock on his door four hours later surprises Richie, though it really shouldn’t have. Bev hasn’t changed one bit since they were kids. Always there when you need someone most. And boy, did Richie need someone. 

Something about seeing two of his childhood friends in front of him breaks Richie, and his tears start before they can make it in the door. He’s begging inaudibly into Bev’s sweater, hands clutching desperately to the material, needing something real, needing someone real. “I miss him so much, Bev. Sososo_so_ _much_. I don’t know what to do. Please, Bev, how do I make it stop?” 

The desperation in his voice is heart wrenching. Bev’s heart aches. “Come on, honey,” she soothes, easing Richie’s hand from their grip and guiding him to the lounge suite. “Can you get a glass of water, please Ben?”

Ben rests their bags against the hallway wall and makes for the kitchen, pausing when he hears Richie croak out a “Whiskey, please”. 

Bev denies his request. “You need water, sweetie. Whiskey’s gonna fuck even more with your head.”

By the time Ben’s returned, Bev’s got Richie with his head in her lap, her fingers working through his messy hair, massaging gently. She removes her hands and pushes under his shoulders lightly so he can sit up and take his drink. Richie opens his eyes in confusion, frown lifting away when he spots Ben standing there. 

Richie downs the water, not having realised how thirsty he is, and retakes his place. Bev starts humming some tune he feels like he should be able to recall, and his eyes close to their own accord. He sighs at the magic of Bev’s fingers as they weave through his sad locks. Ben sits by his feet, a comforting hand resting on his thigh. 

“You know,” Richie begins a tad dazedly, “I read this quote somewhere that, uh, went something like ‘Real love is when you can’t exist without someone. When you’d rather die than be apart.’” Richie chooses to keep his eyes shut, for fear of breaking down if he meets their eyes. “I remember when I came across it, because it struck me, but I couldn’t work out why. I’d never experienced love - that I knew of, at that point anyway - but it made my heart hurt. And I know now. I didn’t think it was possible to miss someone this much - to _ love _ someone this much. I never even got the chance to tell him just how much he meant to be. That I’ve loved him, all this time…”

Richie’s kind of in disbelief at how freely the words fell from his mouth, but he’s just so _ tired _ . He’s heartbroken, tired, lonely, so unbearably lonely.. He was fine being lonely when that was all he knew, all he remembered. But remembering how loved the Losers made him feel, how _ Eddie _ made him feel, increased his loneliness by tenfold. 

“He knew..” Richie hears Bev whisper to him. “He knew, sweetie. By God, did he know? He loved you so much, you know?” Richie can hear the tears welling up, how Bev’s throat is getting tight. “We all loved you.. but Eddie? Eddie loved you more than any of us knew, could ever _ hope _ to know. You could see it in the way he acted around you. He looked up to you so much. I think he was just afraid. But he loved you. More than anything.”

Richie tried to stop the tears, he really did, but they broke through regardless. 

“You’ll be okay, sweetie. I know you will. You’re stronger than any of us. You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.” 

Richie’s not so sure though. 

—

The first few notes play from the radio and Richie’s frozen. His breath is stolen. His heart is pounding. Memories come crashing back, knocking him about with every image, every sound he recalls. 

Eddie’s grasp on the back of his shirt. (The way he grasped back.) 

Eddie’s laugh as they trip over each other’s feet. (The way he held Eddie steadily, refusing to let him fall.) 

Eddie’s hair as it brushes against his neck, his face resting against Richie’s chest. (The way that was the only time Richie allowed himself to indulge in the idea of Eddie being his.) 

Eddie. Eddie. Eddie. 

_ Eddie_. 

Richie can’t do this. He can’t. He needs the music to stop _ right now_. 

But then Bev’s hands are taking his and she’s pulling him in, holding him close. A mix of lyrics and soft hums falling from her lips. He’s okay. 

He’s okay. He can do this. 

Another note plays, beckoning another memory to step forth. They were so happy. Dancing, twirling, joking, laughing. Moments he can’t get back, won't ever get back. 

Richie can’t do this.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @ twilightlesbian and on twt @ kevsdyke


End file.
